Balloon

The Dictator gets attached to things. I mean, crazy, "Single White Female" attached to things. Lord forbid you lose one of the people in a set, a stuffed animal or one of the worst crimes of all time- leave her water bottle at school! (We only have 5 million other water bottles!) There WILL be consequences. Her little OCD world must be perfectly aligned at all times. She's a collector. She's a little crow. She does not like when her perfectly put together little world does not work out the way she wants it to!

Today at the mall a young lady was giving out balloon animals. The Dictator was very excited to get one, and we patiently waited in line for over 20 minutes so that she could get the little yellow dog that she just could not live without. "Yellow Dog" (I was in charge of naming it. It was hot out. I was tired. I wore uncomfortable shoes. I never said I was creative with names anyways!) toured the mall with us. He practiced flying, doing a back float in the fountain (bad Yellow Dog!), went potty (why must everything we bring with us use the potty. sigh) and helped the Dictator try on shoes. It was a magical day for the Dictator and her balloon friend. In the car, on the ride home, she held Yellow Dog gently against her chest and sang to him. The world was a perfect, magical place.

Then we got home. Yellow Dog and the Dictator ran off upstairs for more magical, happy, balloon animal magic time. I heard happiness, running, laughing and then I heard a loud "Pop!" After that followed a hysterical scream from the Dictator. Running up the stairs I found her. Sitting in the sunlight. Holding what was left of her little yellow friend. He was just legs and one sad little ear. The rest was a deflated, sad string of a balloon. The Dictator was in tears, cradling her friend and saying "Oh no! Yellow Dog! Oh no!" over and over again. I admit, I really did feel her sadness. Her little magical world shaken. A place where balloon dogs just die on you! Right in the middle of playing 'jump on the pointy metal bowl Momma keeps on the coffee table' (I'm thinking this was probably what caused Yellow Dog's demise).

The Dictator ran to me and launched herself into my arms. "Why did Yellow Dog diiiiiiiiiiie?"
Me: "Balloon friends cannot live forever. Although Yellow Dog's time was short, he had a very nice life."
The Dictator: "He was my very best friend (did I mention the Dictator can be just a tiny bit dramatic?), I loved him. Now he's just dead" and then more tears. Lots of tears
Me: "We must remember the good times we had with Yellow Dog. Remember how he did a back float in the fountain? Or how he tried on the pink shoes and looked so nice?"
Inside, I am dying laughing right now. Although I do genuinely feel for my daughter, recalling the good times we had with the balloon animal we had for less than 3 hours, plus quite a bit of sun exposure is getting to be too much for me. Despite myself, I giggle. Oh dear God. The Dictator is going to own my ass now.
The Dictator :"Momma. Are you not sad that Yellow Dog is dead?"
Secretly, I'm thinking "No. I am actually quite happy! That balloon animal was bound to pop eventually, and it was like keeping a ticking time bomb in the house. You insisted upon swinging it about at my head and probably caused me at least 5 new gray hairs because I was stressing out that it was going to pop in my face any second. Good riddens to Yellow Dog!"
Me: "Oh honey! I am SO sad that Yellow Dog is dead!"
The Dictator: "I do not believe you."
Me: "What can I do to prove my sincerity?"
The Dictator "Help me make a funeral"

So we did. We said nice words, threw Yellow Dog into the bathroom trash can, covered him with toilet paper and vowed that the next balloon friend we brought home would NOT jump on the pointy bowl.

What the hell kind of sick person insists upon giving children balloon animals anyways? People that hate children. People that hate the parents of the children they hate.

Note to self. No more pet balloon animals. Too disappointing. I think we're going to stick with pet rocks from now on.